


[vore] Baking for Goats

by wolfbunny



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Cooking, Dolcett - Freeform, F/M, Hard vore, Non-fatal vore, Vore, unwilling prey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-06-06 09:35:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15191939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfbunny/pseuds/wolfbunny
Summary: Toriel tries a new recipe on Sans.





	[vore] Baking for Goats

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DandelionSea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DandelionSea/gifts).



> Weird stuff ahead! You have been warned.

“What exactly is that stuff, Tori?” Sans thought the lotion was making him numb. And he hadn’t seen any label on the container, which might seem a little suspicious if this weren’t Toriel he was talking about.  
  
“It’s supposed to work wonders with bone,” Toriel said with a little trill in her voice, not answering his question. She got some more of the goop and kept rubbing it into his ribs and spine, working her way down toward his pelvis, which was an entirely different problem.  
  
“Whoa. Tori, I—” he started to object, but broke off with a gasp as she efficiently slathered the stuff over every bone within reach, then grasped his shoulder to turn him around and get his front side. He almost forgot his first objection until her hands were reaching inside his ribs. Which was really distracting, but he couldn’t help but notice that his whole body was going numb. “Tori, seriously, I think I’m allergic to this stuff. I can’t feel my fingers at all.” He could still wiggle them, at least.  
  
“They feel fine to me,” said Toriel, clasping his hand for a moment before moving on to his skull.  
  
“Wait a sec, Tori, you don’t want me to be a _numb_ -skull, do ya?” Sans laughed, but apparently subtle hints weren’t going to convince Toriel to cut the massage short. “Kidding aside—”  
  
“Oh! Kidding—a goat pun!” Toriel interrupted him, her laughter like some kind of beautiful crystal chime. Which he did not have time for right now.  
  
“Yeah, that aside. I think I’m having some kinda reaction to whatever’s in that lotion.” Surely once he got her to take this seriously, she would help him, or take him home, or something. He couldn’t tell if he could move his fingers or not now, because his skull was too heavy to turn to look at them.  
  
“That just means it’s working,” Toriel reassured him.  
  
“Yeah? What’s it supposed to do?” He was less than 100% reassured.  
  
“You’ll see in a minute.” She pulled his wrists behind his back and tied them together.  
  
That was alarming, but the numbness was seeping into his skull and fuzzing up his thoughts. She stood, picked him up, and carried him toward the next room, her kitchen. “Whatcha doin’, Tori?” he managed, though the effect of the lotion on his jawbone was slurring his speech now.  
  
“The lotion needs to bake in,” she explained, and at first he was just confused how she was going to find enough sunlight for that, but then he saw the pan laid out ready on the kitchen table. His vision had started to go fuzzy as well, but panic brought it back. He squirmed as she lowered him onto the metal surface, but he didn’t have the strength to resist as she tucked his legs in. As long as he was curled up on his side, the pan was big enough to hold him, and fairly deep, the rim coming perhaps halfway up his skull. It was cold metal, but he noticed in his feeble struggles that it was slippery, greased up with something—maybe grease, or butter, or, heck, it could be more of that dreadful lotion.  
  
“Tori, please don’ do this,” he muttered as she lifted the whole pan easily. She ignored him, opening the oven. He’d never really thought about why she would need quite such a large one. She was a fairly large monster, after all. “Tori,” he sobbed. “Why?”  
  
“To soften up your bones, of course,” she answered, as if he were silly for not figuring out already, and the darkness of the oven enveloped him. It wasn’t even hot yet and he was already sweating. Something clicked and  it was light again—a reddish, flickering light. Like the fire he’d seen Toriel use to light her stove when she made him breakfast once. Now she was making him dinner, he thought with a mirthless chuckle. The joke was on her; he would probably taste punny.  
  
It didn’t take long for the oven to heat up. Suspecting it would only get worse, Sans saved his energy. Maybe this was all a horrible joke, and Toriel would pull him out before it got too bad. But as minutes ticked by and the door stayed closed, he began to give up on that possibility. The only sound was the occasional tick of metal expanding. Sans tried to lift himself off the surface of the pan, which was even more unbearable than the surrounding air. But the only leverage he had was to press against the same hot metal, and he’d barely been able to move before he’d been put in here. He panted ineffectually, gasping in the hot air as his skull pressed against the pan, trying to prop himself up so that the minimum of his surface area was touching it, even though the surrounding air was only barely preferable. The grease made it harder, although it probably kept his bones from burning against the metal.  
  
He couldn’t keep even that up forever, although it felt like a long time. He wasn’t sure if it was the lotion reasserting itself or the heat, but he could feel himself fading, his vision tunneling and blurring. He hoped Toriel would enjoy her pan full of dust. He hoped she would stay away from Papyrus.  
  
He couldn’t have said how much later it was when a sound penetrated the fog that had almost obliterated his consciousness. Only when the pan moved under him did he realize that it had been the oven door opening. He couldn’t quite make sense of what he could see over the edge of the pan, but after only a few moments the motion stopped.  
  
“How do you feel, Sans?” Toriel sounded as pleasant as any other time she greeted him after an absence. He wouldn’t dignify that with a response, even if he had been capable of forming a word.  
  
Something pressed against his femur, and it felt odd—wrong. Not painful exactly, but as if it had pressed into the bone somehow. Or perhaps it was searingly painful and he just couldn’t register it over the background pain.  
  
“I think you’re done,” she said. “But still quite hot. Shall we wait a little while you cool down?”  
  
She plucked him up by the ribs and spine and took him out of the pan, setting him on the table. He tried to shrink back from both points of contact, but at least the table was cool. He wondered what Toriel was going to do now, and whether he should be glad he wasn’t just a pile of dust at this point.  
  
She sat down at the table next to him. “So, Sans, would you say you’re getting all fired up?”  
  
Sans groaned a little at the quality of the pun, on top of everything else.  
  
“You’re right, I apologize. It’s hard to cook up a good pun in the heat of the moment.”  
  
That was a lot better, but Sans was still miffed about the whole baking thing, so he stayed silent.  
  
“You are not much of a conversation partner at the moment, Sans,” Toriel said, shaking her head in disapproval. “Perhaps we should just move on. Heat does not really bother me, after all.”  
  
That proposal was alarming enough that Sans would have rolled off the table if he could, but he couldn’t even curl up into a proper fetal position. Toriel hooked his ribs with a claw and pulled him onto his back, which would have been uncomfortable at the best of times with his wrists still bound up behind his spine.  
  
Nothing happened for a few moments—or perhaps it was several minutes—it was hard to judge. Long enough that, although he didn’t feel up to tilting his skull, Sans directed his eye lights down to see what Toriel was up to, only to find her staring back at him. She smiled with satisfaction—apparently she’d just wanted him to pay attention.  
  
Now that she knew he was watching—even if his vision was still pretty blurry—she reached down and lifted his left foot, the side nearer to her. He kicked, or tried to, but he had so little strength left that he wasn’t sure she could even feel the resistance. He vaguely wondered what she was going to do with it, until she opened her jaws. Then he stopped wondering. He didn’t want to think about the obvious implications. But there was nothing he could do to stop it.  
  
His entire foot, calcanius to distal phalanges, fit in her mouth at once, along with a bit of the tibia and fibula. She bit down almost delicately, teeth sinking easily into his tibia—he saw it much more than he felt it. Were her teeth really that sharp, her jaws that strong? She smiled serenely at him as she chewed, red marrow tingeing the fur on her lip, but just a little. He’d have expected more—and he’d have expected to dust shortly after.  
  
“Some of your jokes may be half-baked,” she said after she swallowed, “but you certainly are not. It worked out very well for my first attempt at this particular recipe. Do you not agree?”  
  
First? Did that mean she was going to do this again? Where was she going to find the ingredients for a repeat performance? A jolt of alarm ran through Sans, motivating him to struggle harder—still not hard enough to pull his leg bones out of her grasp, but at least she noticed. He could tell because she laughed at him.  
  
“Relax, my dear. It does not hurt so very much, does it?” she said, taking another bite of his leg, encompassing most of his tibia.  
  
He glared at her in response, which was the full extent of his options. As she bit into his femur, he felt it a little more—whether it was the thicker bone not being cooked through or penetrated as fully by the numbing lotion, or just being closer to his core.   
  
She licked a few drops of magic from her lips. “The center is a little bit rare, I admit. Then again, I could say this whole meal is very rare. I’ve never had one like it.” She pulled the head of his femur from its socket and tossed it into her mouth. “You might say this is unfair, but I would say you don’t have a leg to stand on,” she said with a melodic chuckle as she moved on to his other foot, standing and walking to the end of the table for a better angle.  
  
He let his eye lights roll back, not watching her savor each bite of his leg. He could feel well enough to monitor her progress. And if he just stared at the corner where the wall met the ceiling, he could pretend he was just here to have tea. On the table. Upside down.  
  
She didn’t pry off the last piece of his femur this time, instead leaning over and lifting his pelvis, still intact and attached to his spine, off the table. Her tongue was soft on his tail bone, but he couldn’t appreciate it at all. Her teeth pressed into his ilium, and he gasped. Taken in isolation, that might have felt good, in a way, but combined with the circumstances, it was only horrifying. She bit down harder and pulled away, tongue gathering the chunk of bone into her mouth. Sans saw only a couple drops of magic and no sign of dust on the broken edge before it disappeared between her jaws.  
  
“T…ori…” he managed.  
  
“Ssh, dear, don’t fight it. You wouldn’t want the effects of the potion to wear off, or this would be painful.”  
  
Did she think it wasn’t already painful? Sure, a lot of the physical pain seemed to be numbed—although it could have just been that his pain receptors were overloaded or damaged—but there was also mental anguish to consider, when your goatfriend turned on you like this.  
  
She bit off most of the rest of his pelvis, running her fingers over his sacrum as she chewed, in a way that he might have really appreciated under different circumstances. Her hand moved to his arm, and he thought she might untie him—or bite through the arm in order to free it—but she went back to his sacrum and started eating her way up his spine. After the first bite, he felt what energy he’d recovered drain out of him. Toriel licked at the newly exposed end of his spine. It must have bled more than the other bones.  
  
Toriel ate in silence—a small mercy—until his arms were freed from under his spine because he didn’t have so much spine anymore. Then she finally undid the bonds. He was too weak to look to see how she did it, and the arm that she released flopped limply onto the table. The other hand she guided into her mouth.  
  
When she got to the top of his humerus, her face necessarily came near to his skull. It was all he could do to glance over at the pristine white fur and horns. How he would have enjoyed this closeness if it had been given to him yesterday. Now he could only resent it, and that only vaguely.  
  
He drifted off as Toriel was repeating the treatment on his other arm, but was shocked back into semi-consciousness when she bit into his ribs. It didn’t exactly hurt, still—or at least, he couldn’t tell if it hurt—but it drew a moan from him when she bit into his sternum. As she nibbled down the ribs on one side, his soul manifest—there wasn’t enough of him left to contain it.  
  
“Oh,” she said, as if that were just delightful, and plucked it out between her claws.  
  
“N-no,” he gasped. If she bit down on that, surely this time he would dust instantly. She hadn’t rubbed the potion into his soul, after all. Then again, would instant death really be such a bad turn of events at this point?  
  
“Did you think I was going to chew up your soul, Sans?” she asked, amused at his distress. “What kind of monster do you take me for?” She tossed it onto her tongue and pressed it against the roof of her mouth.  
  
Even in this state, Sans couldn’t help but feel that. His body was in no condition to respond, so the sensation was mostly just horribly uncomfortable. Then she swallowed it. That was even worse, the soft flesh of her throat squeezing it from all sides.  
  
Sans thought he blacked out for a few blessed minutes. Unfortunately, he came to again as Toriel was nibbling the last of his ribs from his spine. As far as he could tell, his scapulae and collar bone were gone. He was just a skull with a few vertebrae. Toriel made short work of the vertebrae.  
  
It was really just cruel that he was still conscious for this part. He willed himself to pass out as Toriel’s jaws closed over one side of his skull, blocking half his vision, but there was still enough magic left in him to react with some kind of self-preservation instinct that urged him to panic rather than sleep. It didn’t hurt—physically—as her teeth pressed into his skull. And mercifully, he didn’t remember anything after that.  
  
***  
  
“What happened?” Papyrus sounded worried.  
  
“Do not worry, Papyrus. We were just trying a new recipe. I admit it was a bit—adventurous. I may have underestimated the effect it would have on him.”  
  
“What kind of recipe?” Papyrus asked shrewdly.  
  
Sans felt himself set down on the couch in his living room. There was no way he could mistake that familiar spring poking into his spine through the cushion. Normally he would expect to be thrilled to wake up in Toriel’s arms and disappointed that she let go. But for some reason, he wasn’t.  
  
“Would you be a dear and get him some water?”  
  
“Of course!”  
  
“And perhaps some of your famous spaghetti would help to restore his strength,” Toriel suggested.  
  
“An excellent idea! I’ll prepare a special batch of extra fortifying spaghetti.”  
  
Sans could hear Papyrus’s footsteps retreating to the kitchen, followed by the faint clatter of pots and pans.  
  
“Sans?”  
  
Toriel’s voice made him freeze up, and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why. He kept his eyes closed, as if he could hide from her so long as he couldn’t see her, and stayed very still, suppressing the trembling in his hands— He had hands, he realized, and that was surprising. Why was that surprising?  
  
“Sans,” Toriel said again, laying a soft paw against his skull. He jumped up and nearly climbed the back of the couch. It was too great an expenditure of energy and left him dizzy. She laughed, a bird-song giggle at his panicked reaction. “Do relax, Sans. Do you not see? You were never in any real danger.”  
  
“Tori?” He blinked. “I—I had the worst nightmare.”  
  
She laughed again, and if he hadn’t been so dizzy he wasn’t sure he could have kept himself from bolting out of the room.  
  
“Nightmare, Sans? But it worked like a dream.”  
  
“What—what’re you talking about, Tori?”  
  
“I admit I had some difficulty with, er, extracting you after you were regenerated, but—”  
  
“Regenerated?”  
  
She laughed. “Let us not go over the gory details. I do not wish to alarm your brother.”  
  
Sans sank back onto the couch, mostly because his arms wouldn’t let him cling to the back any longer. Had that really happened? What was he going to tell Papyrus to make sure his brother never, ever went near Toriel again?  
  
“You should tell him what you just told me—you had a nightmare.” Her smile widened. “It must have been something I ate.”  
  
“I think you should leave.”  
  
She looked hurt. “But Sans. I have to sit with you until Papyrus comes back with his fortifying spaghetti, do I not? We don’t want to worry your brother.”  
  
“I’ll tell him you left the oven on.”  
  
She smiled again. “Why, Sans, have I gotten your goat?”  
  
“To be honest, I don’t ever want to lay eyes on any goat ever again,” Sans said with a meaningful glare.

**Author's Note:**

> This ... procedure could potentially have medical uses! They should experiment further.
> 
> Toriel will probably have to threaten to get Papyrus involved in order to convince Sans to assist further X3


End file.
